Good Morning, Sif
by SmileySara96
Summary: Sif hates morning, unluckily it seems that Loki is as close to a morning person as the Aesir can get. A collection of one-shots, not all about mornings. Chapter Three, "An Ode to the Valedictorian" is posted.
1. Good Morning, Sif

Hello! This is my first Thor fanfiction. I don't own Thor. Upsettingly. Officially I'm pretty sure the legends belong to the Nordic people... but I'm no lawyer. Enjoy! And a better Author's Note is at the end! (; ALSO I have more planned and I'll write personalized messages to every reviewer. SO REVIEW!

* * *

Sif _hates_ mornings. It could have something to do with the fact that one fine morning she woke up in a pile of her blonde curls. Sometimes it's better to stay asleep and postpone facing the music for a more reasonable, much later hour.

Young Sif was swaddled in fur pelts, recovering from her coming-out ball. Sleeping was an infinitely preferable past-time to dancing. But the ball _had been fun.__  
_  
Vollstagg had nearly broken all of her toes and Fandrall had sweaty palms. Thor had spun her so quickly that she had been genuinely noxious.. But he looked so handsome, and her hand curled around his arm had sent shivers down her spine.

And best of all: no one noticed that she was wearing her most comfortable leather boots under her all that silk and tulle.

"Good Morning Sif," a voice purred. Sif's brown eyes snapped open and met a pair of mischievous blue ones.

She jumped, nearly slipping out of her bed. She reached out, catching herself on her satin sheets and silky locks of hair.

She screamed, her hands flung at her head, grasping at spiky, short strands.

She shoved the spindly adolescent out of her bed and raced for the looking glass propped against her vanity.

"It's black!" _It's black!_

"Well it certainly would appear so, Sif," he said, picking up a handful of gold and throwing her hair like confetti.

Her mind flashed back to the ball and Thor telling her that her hair burned brighter than the sun.

"Why?" she cried. Tears were threatening to tumble out of her eyes. Her sword was at the blacksmith's but she could always club the prince to death with her shield.

"Don't blubber. It's only temporary. I can change it back any time," he jumped onto her bed and fluffed the pillow to his liking. Her hair was Loki hair, wild and black and stick-straight.

"FIX IT THEN!" she hollered, thundering at him with shield raised threateningly above her head.

"First you owe me a dance," he muttered, unafraid, and his mischievous front slipping, revealing a perturbed, impatient look.

"What? You didn't even ask me to dance," Sif yelled. Was Loki standing off to the side at the ball last night? Leaning against a pillar? Reading a leather-bound spell tome? _Charming hair?!_

"Fine! Whatever! I'll restore your stupid hair!" he straightened up, and motioned for her to sit between his legs.

She hesitated for a moment before begrudgingly complying, climbing onto her own bed and squirming to make herself comfortable and make sure her nightgown wasn't riding up and that Loki wasn't looking down it.

He was so tall. For a couple hundred years he was even taller than his older brother. He had the clumsiness to accompany his height. He wasn't as spindly as he was a child. While no warrior, his clothes had ceased to hang on his frame.

Sif, on the other hand, was dwarfed by Loki, but her baby fat had matured into some semblance of curves. Close company to Loki made her feel like she looked as plump as Volstagg.

He laced his long fingers through her hair, and she had to pretend she didn't like the attention, even after injury. She had to pretend that the shivers _he_ sent down her spine were tremors of anger and frustration- that his cold fingers ghosting her scalp and his chest against her back and his lithe, leather-bound legs grazing against her bare thighs only fueled her frustrations. She focused on that anger, but only found sadness.

Thor said her blonde hair was beautiful... What would he think of this hair?

"It's not working right." Loki sounded generally concerned. Probably for his well being, because being an insufferable farce earned him a nasty shiner on that poor porcelain skin. But Sif kept a reminder of that good morning with her for the rest of her immortal life.

* * *

Over the decades, still in the throngs of adolescence, Sif would try to accustom herself to her unusual wake-up calls. The dark-haired Prince of Chaos seemed to make every morning an opportunity to perfect his magic craft.

Lately that had become teleporting her mahogany bed all over the kingdom.

She awoke in the great hall, surrounded by clusters of guards, a furious Allfather, and Loki being reprimanded by his golden-haired mother.

"This isn't any way to show her that!" Frigga told her son. Loki, observing Sif's open eyes and tilted head gave a wave.

"GOOD MORNING SIF!" he hollered across the hall.

Sif didn't break off her headboard and murder her prince with it, but she got her revenge later.

After palace guards managed to extricate her four poster bed, and after a hard day of training, the hall was reopened and a feast was spread out on the sprawling tables.

Sif's father had even allowed his warrior-princess (all of Sif's friends had snickered) a half a glass of molted mead. She downed the glass and tried to follow Thor's suit, slamming the crystal against the table, much to her father's amusement, but not compliance.

Loki walked up to her, brushing her hair back and tapping her on the shoulder. Her black hair had grown past her elbows, only to be hacked away, this time by her own hand, and the locks fanned out around her shoulders. Her mouth went dry at his touch and she gulped.

Loki had come to mean either horrible tricks or other feelings, equally horrible, easier felt for Thor. And Sif even wondered if there was a difference in the way she admired and desired Thor and the way her stomach twisted when Loki played his pranks and smiled up at her.

"Would you like to go for a walk around the lake?" the hall was so loud that he had to lean over and move closer to her ear, and in the mass of consonants and vowels, his lips accidently touched the shell of her ear and she jerked forward. She glanced nervously around. None of her other friends had observed, so she glared and nodded her consent.

If a prince walked with a girl in a gown he might offer her his arm to hold. But Sif was in dirty armor and Loki was awkward enough around girls in gowns. So they walked near each other in uncomfortable silence.

Boys don't ask a Shieldmaiden to take strolls through gardens with them. Ever. They stopped near the lake.

"My mother and I were speaking and she thought I should apologize to you."

Sif knew that it would mean this prank war of theirs would never end and he would immediately recall his apology and that it wasn't coy or womanly, but that they _were _flirting in their strange way... Maybe. Whatever! He wasn't planning on courting any girls like her anytime, anyway. So she pushed him into the lake.

He emerged coughing and spluttering, vowing his revenge- which he more than achieved when she woke up the next day- her beloved four poster bed slowly sinking to the bottom of the lake- her in it.

Loki was sitting on the shore, watching her struggle to the banks in her nightdress- and after taking ample time to admire the layers of creamy lace and short silk clinging to his immortal frenemy's curvy frame, he offered his customary good morning and his overcoat, like any polite gentleman would.

But for now, with Loki in the lake, Sif said "Good night, Loki."

* * *

Sometimes mornings were less comfortable- more comfortable? Less of a struggle? More of a struggle? Different. Very different.

Sif was a girl with principles. She didn't sleep in any bed besides her own and if a boy joined her, it was Loki and it was a prank.

One day, however, Sif woke up in a bed with softer sheets than even her own. Watered silk that flowed in real liquid rivulets over her bare legs. Then Sif's eyes widened. Because this _wasn't_ her bed. Which meant it was probably a boy's bed, which meant that after drinking just one full cup of mead, she had lost her chastity to someone in the castle.

But she was fully clothed, and that knowledge allowed her to breathe easier. The knowledge that she was lying, legs tangled with another's- nestled in the crook of a man's arm was more dizzying.

She focused on the man- surely she would recognize him. He, unlike most Asgardian men, was sleeping with pants and an untied tunic. Sif's hand had wheedled under the hem of his cotton shirt and lay splayed across bare skin of his stomach. It wasn't Thor or any of his friends, assuredly, the muscles under her fingers were understated... and cold... and he smelled a little icy like mint leafs- and- and like musty library books.

"Loki!" Sif barked, legs still entwined, and hand still straying.

"Good Morning, Sif," he muttered groggily. Rubbing tired eyes with the hand not trapped under Sif. He slipped his left leg out from under Sif's leg and stretched. Sif felt the muscles along his arm flexing against her neck.

"What am I doing here?" Sif continued, voice still cutting.

"Isn't it obvious? You drank an entire cup of mead and stole my chastity."

"You stole my chastity."

"Oh, right," he yawned and turned over to face Sif. He let a hand sneak under the blanket and Sif felt fingertips graze her knee then stray higher, stroking along just under the hem of her dress. She was burning up. The blue eyes, the touches. It was all too much too earlyin the morning. But could she fault him when her own hand had been so desperate for his skin? It still rested there, on his stomach, fingers extending farther and feeling more with every breath Loki took.

She either swatted his hand away or it grew tired of exploring her thigh. She swatted. She definitely swatted.

"You put me here and we didn't _do_ anything," she accused. Loki shimmied down, pulling his tunic further up. Sif quickly retracted her straying hand and tried to avert her eyes from the expanse of skin where muscles lightly protruded like an ivory topography map.

"Your powers of deduction are even more impressive than your beautiful face," Loki muttered sarcastically, tugging his tunic off altogether. Sif burned bright red. _Beautiful?_

"But, I can't assume all of the responsibility for our... arrangement. Your hands move on their own volition."

"As did yours!" Sif rebuked. Loki grinned.

She slapped Loki and told him that the next time he tried one of these tricks he would have a blade in his back. He laughed at her as she tried to stealthily sneak back down corridors to her own chambers.

Later the group had gathered around Loki in the library and Thor was asking his customary daily question.

"What are you studying today, brother?"

Loki rolled his eyes.

"I'm not reading today, I'm writing. I have a theory."

"Share your magical theory. Enlighten your warrior friends."

"It's about magical resistance. If you're trying to use a curse to kill someone, for example, their entire being creates this oppositional friction that your power must overcome."

"I see, continue," Thor prompted. Sif angled her head to get a better look at the parchment Loki was scratching on.

"But if... As another example... You wanted to teleport a girl- a woman-into your bedchambers..." Fandrall and Thor's eyes lit up. Loki was older now and much less shy with women. Their magic man might have some useful information for once.

"If the woman is more than willing to share your bed, then she puts up less resistance to your magic. Practically none in a best case scenario."

Sif blushed and looked away, praying none of her friends would catch Loki's eyes focused on her.

"And just how would you know?" Fandrall drawled skeptically, already considering himself the most womanly prolific.

"I have a more-than-willing test subject."

* * *

Sif hated mornings for all of the little reasons, all of the early morning pranks, however many times she woke up to Loki's goading face too close to hers, or Loki's goading face disguised as Volstagg or Heimdell too close to hers.

For when she shuffles out of bed and down the corridors to scrape up some sustenance, still squinting from sleep, a prince in green runs past and ruffles her long, black hair.

"G'morning Sif." The high pitched wine matures to something deep and different. Heady? Not hardy, or loud. Soft and... oh Gods no, seductive.

She hates mornings because of all of the pranks she wakes up to or all of the bad news that could have been put of till noontime... Or never.

Loki fell off the Bifrost. Loki's destroying Jotunheim... destroying Midgard. Thor has a mortal lover, Loki's been imprisoned on Asgard. Loki died... honorably in battle, but dead all the same.

An official end to any good mornings.

Sif hates mornings for early callers.

"The Allfather requests your presence," a guard announced, like she wasn't sound asleep. _Couldn't he have sent in one of her Shieldmaidens in waiting to dump a pail of cold water on her head?_ Wouldn't that have been as pleasant?

"It will be a minute. I'm not yet presentable," Sif muttered, setting about to find her clothes. She was about to tug off her nightgown and shrug into her underclothes behind her dressing curtain when the guard's voice interrupted.

"The Allfather anticipated as much and said that time was of the essence and..." the guard hesitated, Sif peered out and observed his cheeks coloring.

"What?" Sif asked, a bit sharply, impatiently, as she wasn't the Goddess of Early Morning Battles or Embarrassed Guards.

"You are to come in... whatever state of indecency ensures your quick presence. The Allfather goes so far as to request as great a state of undress as you have the luxury to afford."

_Indecency? _Sif was flushing, a difficult feat. The fields of war allowed for no _decency_ but Odin? Good Gods. Only Loki could persuade a blush from her cheeks.

Sif draped a red wrap over her nightclothes, which weren't at all _indecent_ and found her house shoes, thin moccasins, before plodding grumpily to the throne room. It wasn't uncommon to see Lady Sif looking so disheveled in the early morning.

A Harold announced the arrival of the Lady and she entered the throne room. She knelt to the mourning Allfather, and a crooked grin broke out on his usually so somber face. She arched a brow at the aging king with his legs splayed over the arm of his throne.

His eyes roamed over her and _her_ eyes widened in outrage. She stood, stammering and spluttering. Then everything snapped in to place.

"Good morning Sif."

* * *

A/N: Hello world! I'm rarely truly inspired to write fanfiction, but this came to me. I'd love if you took time to review, I will thank each of my reviewers personally if I am convinced to continue. I'll continue with some unrelated/ inter-related one shots if I get some reviews. I'm embarking on a different quest... into the world of using as a foreign language teacher. So yep: next year I'm writing a bunch of one shots IN SPANISH! If Spanish is your first or second... Or third or whatever- language, then please offer me some advice. Love to hear from you!


	2. Romantically Elusive

Author's Note: Hello, world. Alas, I do not own Thor... lo siento. I hope you enjoy this second installment. I would like to thank my first reviewers...

The-British-Lady: Awe, thank you so much. I love fluff, too. I was worried that the first chapter might be a little too raunchy for fluffy, so I'm glad you got the fluffy vibe. I hope this chapter, which is MORE fluffy in my opinion, is to your liking, too! Keep reviewing, I'd love your continued input!

Thyre: I think so, too... I've had some of these one-shots saved and checking to see if more Sifki was on was actually causing me physical pain. SO I decided to do something about it, haha. I hope you like this chapter, it's kind of unrelated to the first, but if anyone particularly wants me to do a follow up to the first chapter, I could!

Meeeee: Thanks for reviewing! Really, though. I am so glad you took time to review this, you are awesome/great/amazing/fantastic... etc. I hope you like the next chapter. Your feedback is very appreciated! :D

So I hope my lovely readers enjoy this next chapter. I'd love it if all followers and favoriters reviewed so I could personally thank you for being awesome and fantastic and everything. AND I don't know if this is how everyone rolls, but if you'd like to suggest prompts in the reviews I would be more than open to that. So you know, suggest, tell me what you want, accept my admiration.

* * *

The Lady Sif was romantically elusive- rarely allowing dances at balls and stamping through mud on dreamy walks around the grounds at twilight.

Perhaps it was that her behavior was less "elusive" and more "repulsive"

Potential suitors colored when she ate fist-fulls of their food and belched, threw down her glasses and drank too much mead.

But she certainly was gorgeous for all that trouble. And the elusivity was a factor. The general consensus among the eligible men of court was that not only was she properly a virgin, but that she hadn't even indulged in a chaste peck or allowed a man the luxury of holding her hand.

A group of young men who were not put off at all by the Goddess of War's behavior were gathered on the training grounds whispering conspiratorially.

Their friend was off for the afternoon, across the training grounds teaching a willowy girl- the daughter of some Lord or Lady- how to wield a sword.

She had demanded that her friends not intervene.

"Why is it, do you think, that such a fine woman is so afraid of a man's company?" The blond, booming young prince of Asgard queried.

His dark haired brother, apparently absorbed in some exotic spellbook, glanced up.

Fandrall was ogling the dark haired girl from afar, as conspicuously as possible.

Quiet Hogun stole quick glances across the grounds.

And Volstagg was tearing into a sandwich. As the oldest of their group was already betrothed. His sweetheart was short and plump, a clear complexion and flaxen hair- perpetually plaited in two- and one of the Palace's most promising young cooks.

Thor was drinking in the sight of the newly Christened "Lady" Sif as if she were the glory after Ragnarok.

"Perhaps the Lady Sif is displeased with her suitors, not afraid of them. When has she ever been afraid?" Loki offered.

"Ah! Loki!" Thor greeted as if suddenly noticing his arrival.

"What are your feelings on her, then?" Fandrall teased. Excepting their silent spectator the men had taken ample time to expound on their friend.

Hogun had shyly admitted his admiration of her bravery and skill on the battlefield.

Volstagg had said that her smiles were almost as warm as those of his beautiful betrothed- a concession of some sort.

Fandrall had enumerated so specifically every good aspect of her form that every man flushed when she glanced over at them and had a new appreciation for her tight armor.

Thor had pronounced her a paragon of womanhood (in less prolific words) and believed that half the kingdom should be so lucky as to desire her hand.

"Sif is..." Loki began, fishing for coherent words.

"Yes-" Thor hedged.

"A little too..."

"Too what, Loki? Spit it out," Fandrall snapped. Loki narrowed his eyes.

"Un-womanly, inexperienced... Unsure of herself..." Loki trailed off, lies always came easily.

"Loki!" Sif bellowed across the training grounds. He looked over at her. She gestured for him to come. He sighed, set down his book and began to walk over.

"Wait! Before you go." Fandrall said, pulling on Loki's boot to bring him to a halt.

"I propose a bet. If one of us can woo the Lady Sif... And have her hold our hand AND kiss us romantically on her own volition, then you, Mischief Prince, who believes her a foregone case, will pay the winner..."

"A spell of their choice!" Thor interjected, always bitter when his younger brother put fees to magical favors.

"And if after a week I win and your toil is fruitless..."

If anyone, Loki knew she might give in to Hogun, take pity on him, in a best case scenario. She would catch on to Fandrall immediately. Subtlety wasn't his art... If he even had an art. Thor would be a hardnone, too... he didn't think she would moon over his brother, at least not openly in any way.

"Then we'll go to Midgard, like you want!" Thor boomed, grinning broadly.

Loki knew immediately that instead of exhausting himself trying to keep three adolescent warriors away from Sif. He had to come up with a better plan.

* * *

In the library, which was as empty as ever, Loki walked down rows of bookshelves, pulling hand-fulls of spell books out. He levitated them in a glowing blue mass to the largest table, the one used for drafting plans of war. Then he returned for more.

_War? _ Loki thought, quirking an eyebrow as he eyed one of the larger aisles. Well this WAS war. And some cheeky men had already taken to calling young Sif Asgard's Goddess of War. Research is research.

Loki found his Goddess balancing precariously on a rickety stool reaching for one of the heavier books of maps, already cradling An Anthology of Archery. Her parents requested she wear dresses, and had the money to have the same seamstress as Loki and Thor. Loki was amused to learn from her precarious perch that Sif concealed leggings and leather boots under her dresses.

"Sif?" Loki asked. She turned to him and the stool shifted.

Blue engulfed her, like she was suspended in shimmering gelatin. But Sif was heavier than a couple of books and the threads of magic tore like mist. Loki threw an arm around her waist and they fell back.

"I assume I shouldn't be trying that with people just yet..." Loki laughed.

Sif pulled herself up, but quickly realizes how improper straddling the prince's hips in her fine dress would look to a passerby. She offered a hand. Loki eyed it suspiciously, surely she wasn't THAT strong.

She tugged and brought the tall boy to his feet.

"Which book were you reaching for?" he asked.

"Topography maps of Midgard," Sif acquiesced.

"Why Midgard?" Loki asked, faking curiosity. He knew full well.

"Research is research," she teased.

"You heard that?" Loki asked, neck flushing.

"What? You mumbling to yourself... I may have overheard something."

Loki reached up and easily plucked the tome off its shelf.

"What are you reading? This entire mountain over here," Sif asked, incredulous.

"I'm researching."

"Ah... You're researching how to... Make love potions, woo women... fight in close quarters... make magical modifications to faces... what are you researching, exactly?"

Loki was planning to make a dis-attraction potion... Or three, but he had to get her away from all of his research. Now if he handed her a glass of mead she would rightfully suspect he had spiked it with something magical.

"I am trying to woo women."

"You don't learn any of that from books. You can't learn EVERYTHING from a book," she said sensitively, piteously.

"What should I do?" he whined, pulling his brows together and frowning. Lying, basically.

"Well, you shouldn't set out to woo all of womankind... do you... um... well... have a specific woman in mind?" she asked quietly, flicking through her book of maps.

"Of course I do, Sif, you know me well enough." Loki wouldn't become Fandrall for anything.

"And she would be... I'm not going to play guessing games with you,  
Trickster."

"If I tell you, I am assured you will laugh."

"Fine. I can easily respect that. I will tutor you, then!"

"What."

* * *

"Brother! I asked for Sif to picnic with me and she informed me that you have borrowed her FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK."

"You're receiving romantic advice from her, apparently," Fandrall bitterly interjected. A tavern girl and friend of Sif the blond warrior had been flirting with had told him the melancholy news.

"I didn't ask to borrow her, she forced her services on me. Find something to get her away from me if you're so determined to win the wager."

"I will!" Both blonds chimed.

"What spell could you possibly want so badly?" Loki inquired innocently, steepling his fingers.

"Lady Sigyn," Fandrall piped immediately, thoughts straying to the willowy blonde almost as elusive as Sif.

"A luck spell for the tournament," Thor said slowly, chewing uncharacteristically on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm resigning from the bet," Hogun said simply. Loki brushed off the thought that it would take a lot of courage to admit anything like that in front of Thor and Fandrall. The latter's eyes lit up and Loki quickly distracted the pair.

"Am I to believe that The Mighty Thor can't conquer his foes without the aid of his Trickster brother?" Loki teased.

"And pray tell what I should do to make you more attractive to the young Lady? Magic you a _real_ moustache?" Loki sneered.

"You said _anything_!_"_ Thor reminded.

"Whatever, pack your bags for Midgard!" Loki sing-songed.

Midgard was Sif's idea. Fleeting moments when the two were alone she would chirp something about the Midgardians, swept up in their Industrial Revolution. This carriage- moving without a horse- this tower- that skyscraper. Loki had advertised the idea first to Thor who immediately shot it down as "boring"- the Midgardians didn't worship the spindly adolescent anymore., then to the group who thought it not worth the trouble they'd be in for tricking Heimdell.

"And what about Sif?" Loki asked, looking up from his swirling glass  
of mead.

"What of her?" Thor asked.

She would be tossed to the side and expected to stay Sif, strong and brave like them all.

Loki knew their answer plain enough.

* * *

"What does this girl like?" Sif asked, running into the library behind Loki. She had changed out of her armor and was wearing a gray wool and blood burgundy satin confection. Sweat clung in beads to her forehead, fresh from swordplay tutoring, and her black hair had been hastily plaited.

"Unconventional things, I hope," Loki said.

"You mean you? Of course she'll like you, you're an Asgardian prince! The issue is in expressing your feelings best- and making sure she isn't interested in you only for your title or appearance," Sif sounded off.

"I don't think anyone would put up with me even to be the Queen of Asgard," Loki laughed, entertaining the thought that Odin would chose him as his successor.

"Every girl wants to be a princess!" Sif argued, uncouthly throwing herself into a chair and unceremoniously slumping. Loki pictured the Lady Sif crowned and siting primly in the throne room. Maybe at the side of a more mature Thor….

"You wouldn't want to be a princess."

"I take offence! Just because I'm a little... Unconventional, does not mean I wouldn't marry you. I mean... or Thor. I mean a hypothetical prince who is neither of you. Alright. Anyway. Her interests include..." Sif prompted again, blushing and averting her eyes.

Allfather, the girl was trying. And she thought she could help him, like she had this store of romantic knowledge, and it wasn't fair and it was making his friends think he's an idiot- when all bets were on her being so awkward and ignorant But maybe she just didn't publicize her conquests and so what if they were fewer? Loki was the same way.

And they were going to make her fall in love and then let her flounder for centuries when they move on to the next barmaid. And she was almost over Thor and that had taken- what? Four hundred years at least? And If he DOESN'T tell her first his Silver-tongued friends would make it sound like it was HIS stupid idea.

"THERE WAS A BET!" Loki blurted. She slowly looked up at him, full lips parting slightly.

"What? You mean... A bet about... Me? And that's why Thor wants to take me on a picnic? And Fandrall brought me flowers? And you wanted romantic advice?" Sif asked, her skin becoming red and blotchy.

Anticipating she'd turn her concealed dagger on him, Loki reached forward ad grabbed it. She jumped when his hand slipped into her boot. In a flick of his wrist the dagger- a gift from him- was back in her Chambers.

"Listen Sif," he started. But big, angry tears were pooling in her chocolate eyes.

"NO! You listen, Loki! Listen well," she started. The first tear fell, quickly succeeded. She pulled in a ragged breath.

"I am never talking to you pigs again! Find a new girl to torment!" Her hand jabbed into his overcoat, fingers curled around one of his own silver-jilted daggers, and she delved it into the mahogany table in-between Loki's knuckles.

She turned and raced out with a particularly wrenching sob.

Loki grabbed the last of her books on Midgard and wrenched his knife from the table.

* * *

Sif wore a trailing green dress that hung off of her shoulders and scooped impossibly low, both to her lower back and in a sweep across her chest.

Instead of taking her usual seat in-between Loki and Hogun and across the dining hall table from Thor, she walked into the throngs of other men and batted her eyelashes.

"You told her, didn't you?" Fandrall asked.

"Of course not, I don't know what she's up to," Loki grumbled.

He pulled himself up from the table and shoved his way through Sif's growing crowd of grubby admirers.

"Sif. I need to talk to you. It's important," Loki deadpanned.

An archer pouring her wine glared.

"I'm busy, Loki," Sif sneered.

"It was an order," Loki continued, his lips a grim line. He offered his hand, which she tentatively curled her fingers around, and he tugged- as deceptively strong- pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the center of the crowded hall.

"Thor and Fandrall are callous idiots. Hogun forfeited."

"And you aren't a callous idiot?" Sif asked, hand still in his. Sif's admirers and their collection of friends glanced over at the spectacle.

"They wanted to know if you would be wooed by them. If they succeeded in a week I'd give them a spell- free of charge," Loki said, squeezing her fingers, as if physically uncomfortable with his honesty.

"Well... and how did you factor in?"

"I said they would fail, and I was prepared to magically ensure they fail-and- if they failed after one week they would agree to our trip to Midgard," Loki concluded.

Sif grabbed at of Loki's black hair and pulled his face down to hers, crashing their lips together. Her tongue darted into his mouth and her hands migrated to his shoulders, his back, hungry and roaming, yanking him closer and taking handfulls of expensive fabric in their vice-like grasp.

Loki leaned in, a hand resting delicately on her waist and the other cradling her cheek.

"WHAT!" Fandrall snapped.

Sif broke away and wiped at her smudged lipstick. Loki's open lips were nearly blood red, he stumbled, admittedly a little dazed. Sif caught him with her hand in his.

"We're going to Midgard," she chirped.

The successful wooer's spell of choice involved his warrior friends and extremely persistent and well-made dresses. All of the ladies had agreed that Thor looked quite fetching in pink.


	3. An Ode to the Valedictorian

AN: Hello all. It's been too long. I've been working on a couple of oneshots simultaneously. This is all kind of therapeutic considering I have no original ideas right now. And here I wanted to do Camp Nanowrimo… :/

Anyway. This one is an AU. So if I accidentally put their real names in there… oops.

ALSO I DO NOT OWN THOR. I DO NOT OWN THE LEGENDS. I DO NOT OWN A SINGLE COMIC BOOK COMPANY NOR A SINGLE MOVIE... I don't even own Chris Hemsworth. Tell you when I get the rights to that one, though. (;

Here are my responses to your lovely reviews, good readers.

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The-British-Lady: Awe, glad you liked It, thanks for reviewing, it means the world, and I'm really glad you took time to tell me what you like! I hope you like this new chapter, it's a bit different from the other two, I mean it is AU.

Thyre: I'm glad I have a relatable humor. And I get the "Need to change the name" vibe too, any suggestions? PLEASE! Hahaha.

FieryRed Sunrise: Hey! Thanks for the compliments, such flattery. You are inflating my ego. I hope you like the new chapter.

Addictedtoscifi: I love lengthier reviews. First off you rock for that. I don't know what got me hooked on this pairing, I really love their on-screen chemistry and it just seemed legit that Loki would want Sif, considering that Thor has her practically at beck and call, and they have practical ETERNITIES to get together and probably grew up in close proximity, there's so much about them that is a mystery and can be expounded on. I'll try to keep regular updates…. Hahaha. Maybe.

Guest: Thanks for taking time to review and keep me motivated, you are fantastic, mi amigo.

Sifofwar: Love the username. Everyone has some creative genius in them, I definitely recommend you give it a shot, there isn't enough of this pairing on this website. If you get around to writing something give me a link. I would LOVE to review it for you! (:

Geek Warrior: More, coming right up, madame! I feel like a French waitress, running through some fancy joint. The unfortunate fact is I am also the head and only cook, such struggling.

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"Who's that?" Steph chimed, throwing open the door to the Odinson house and stamping in.

Steph was Mr. Dall -the Odinson's gatekeeper's granddaughter, and considering her unwavering status as one of the best friends of both Lucas and Toorance, she had unlimited access at all times to the largest house in three counties, the gilt-gold plantation home sitting on the hill.

The buttler grimaced at the mud she tracked in… but reprimanding her would go over as well as reprimanding The Young Master Luke, as the dark haired seventeen-year-old would jump unconventionally to her rescue… and the two would play pranks and wreak havoc for WEEKS.

Luke jumped up from his spot in the foyer. He had two AP Chem text books in reach, one open on either knee, and it looked like he was infuriatingly halfway through their required reading for AP Norwegian Lit… some anthology of myths.

"Are you reading the part about Thor yet?" Steph asked, abandoning her original purpose.

"You are obsessed with blonds…" Loki muttered.

"Come on. So are you," Steph laughed, tossing a long flank of honey blonde over her shoulder.

"But anyway, who is that?"

"Who's what?" He mumbled, avoiding eye contact at all costs. The perfect liar's one tell.

"The mousy little red car in the driveway," Steph amended. She trounced down beside him and snatched up some of his light reading.

"And where's Torr… is he coming or what?" Osmium… Thorium… Barium… boring.

"One question at a time. This book is_ really_ enthralling. Hey. There's an SAT word for you," Luke teased.

Luke was wearing a black leather jacket stretched over an emerald tee shirt. His mom ensured her sons wore exclusively the softest, most attractive, most expensive tee shirts. Like two hundred dollar plain shirts.

And the brothers WORE the things. Aside from Luke's Biker Jacket and Torr's brown Bomber only Luke could get away with long overcoats and no one in the twenty-first century could wear leather pants like Torrance Odindson. Luke wore tattered jeans reverently and no one could put Torrance in In-school Suspension when he looked so good in Muscle Shirts, no matter what dress code violations he was racking up.

Of course Mrs. Odinson bought Steph heaps of expensive clothes too, but shirts and skirts hand-crafted by Tibetan monks always became more… holey on Steph. Hey! She leads an active lifestyle.

The Vikings- Aseville's best Football team- made a habit out of hanging out at the lake every Saturday. Torr was Aseville's best Quarter-back since his dad was a Viking himself, Luke was the team's primary strategies and wicked taunter… and begrudgingly, for ceremonial purposes wide-reciever. And Steph was the only kicker to score five field goals in one season. Also considering Steph's longstanding friendship with the brothers, the trio made a habit out of getting ice cream at the Drive-In before they went to the lake.

"The car in the driveway is the… um… Shit-mobile… it's Darcy Lewis' s rust bucket slash pride and joy… let's just go to the lake now, alright? Torrance said he'd catch up later," Loki suggested.

"You're not seriously telling me Darcy Lewis is in your house right now. Are you secretly dating her or something?" Steph pantomime gagged.

"Yeah… definitely not."

"She's obsessed with you. She says you're dangerous. She thinks you smoke pot."

Darcy Lewis's vocalized thoughts on the tall, dark haired boy were always interesting. Steph was a mere acquaintance and she had queried her already multiple times. Over a dissection: "So... his abs, right?" Over lunch: "And he writes poetry… perfection?" During the Moment of Silence: "Was his hair carved by the Viking Gods? Omigod wait. What about THOSE EYES!? I could swim in their fucking eternity. Hey! I should write poetry, too!"

"We'll talk about Darcy at the lake…"

"But she's not here? Then who is?"

"Steph..." Loki warned.

"The Lady Steph has arrived?" Toorance Odinson boomed, leaning heavily on the spiral staircase. His blond hair was mused beyond belief, the muscles in his shoulders and up his arms rolled under his tank. Blond stubble stippled his jaw like gold dust.

"Torr! Why aren't you coming to the lake?"

"Physics Tutoring. Mr. Selvig is going to have me kicked off the team unless I pull up my grade."

"Luke's coming with me, now, though…" Steph trailed off.

"Jane Foster is tutoring him," Luke whispered.

The petite brunette plodded out of Torrance's room and waved.

"Hey Stephanie!" She chirped. She had her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and was wearing a little black peplum dress with capped sleeves and a godforsaken peter pan collar.

"Ah, there's my Astrophysicist!" Torr exclaimed, throwing an arm around her and leaning down, planted a kiss on her cheek.

"We gotta go… to the lake…" Steph muttered, grabbing the first set of keys she could wrap her fingers around.

Luke followed after her, saying goodbye to Jane and Torrance.

She'd grabbed the keys to Luke's Mustang, she realized, looking at the keychain she'd made him. The little heap of gold clay almost looked like a cow… or a bug. Antennas or horns? He called it his Helmet of Hotness, when he was feeling particularly reminiscent and funny.

Luke nudged her shoulder and dangled a different set of keys in front of her for her observation. Keys to a bright red, newly and meticulously restored Ford Pickup.

"Up for a joyride?"

"Come on, put your feet on the dash. We're defiling The Hammer," Luke ordered, setting the radio to a Hard Rock station and banging his head to the beat. His hair, out of his gold beanie, fell around his face and he was drumming his long fingers against the steering wheel.

It was almost enough to cheer Steph up- Luke embarrassing himself to make her smile.

"Can we skip ice cream?"

"Yeah… sure…" Luke agreed.

"I mean… I know you practically live off of ice cream. But I've got to watch your figure if you aren't…"

Broad shoulders, impossibly tall, baby blue eyes… SOMEONE should be watching his figure. Watching every breath pull at his shirt… watching him tug off his leather jacket and maneuver down main street at the same time. Watch him laugh. Watch him sing.

On an abandoned stretch of road Luke turned to Steph.

"Wanna see how fast we can go?" He asked. A mischievous lit to his voice.

"We aren't immortal. Just because Torrance is back together with Jane doesn't mean I want us to wrap The Hammer around a tree…"

"This thing was forged in the heart of a dying star. We're riding in Mjolnir," Luke laughed.

"I am literally on chapter two of that book." Steph figured he was alluding to the myths of yore… lore… who cares…

"Fine. What should we do for fun, then?" He asked resignedly.

"Go to Wallgreens?"

"Why? And how is this going to be fun, exactly?"

"You'll see."

Steph was wearing a red dress and a pair of ratty converse. Luke, like any dutiful guy in the Friend Zone, threw his jacket over her shoulders and trailed behind her as she walked to the craft aisle.

She handed him a pair of yellow and purple safety scissors and casting another look over the baskets of Crayola crayons and construction paper, they exchanged Elmer's glue for eyelash glue in the Beauty aisle.

"I want to be a brunette."

"What!?" Luke spluttered. All because of the perky little Valedictorian and his stupid brother.

"Blonde is boring. Here. Hold this one." She set a light chocolate into his hand and examined a darker, auburn-hued brown in the glow of the fluorescent lights.

"And what about the safety scissors?"

"You were in Cosmetology…"

"For like ten seconds. It was a scheduling error!" Luke cried, slipping hair color back into rightful positions.

"This one's all-natural," Steph idly commented.

"Yeah. So's your normal hair color!"

"Blasé. There's an SAT word for you," she teased.

"You can't…" she settled him with a glance that roared she could.

"But…" he objected.

"You can't…"

"Come on… it'll be… fun…"

"For whom?!" Luke yelled, and deftly switched the packet of dye in a honey-brown box for a sheenless black shade like ink.

"For everyone involved?"

"Well… if it's fun we're sacrificing your hair for FUN… allow me to pick up the tab, gorgeous," Luke drawled in an exaggerated southern accent.

Luke Odinson picking up the tab included a six pack of Coke for the gaggle of friends who didn't even like him that much, remembering he needed to buy a birthday present for a cousin who claimed to be actual royalty (A ten dollar iTunes gift card is good enough, right?), and Luke throwing a flexible green ruler into the mix to satisfy his OCD. The eclectic mess rounded the total at forty five dollars exactly. Luke had done the mental math twice before letting Steph dump the mess on the haggard cashier.

"For a self-proclaimed lover of mischief and chaos that was pathetic," Steph commented idly, twirling the little paper box over in her hands. She popped the little plastic safety seal and stared hard at the packet of dye.

"You can give me my jacket back ANY time," Luke had a hand draped on the wheel, the other musing his hair. He could probably stunt drive for movies as good as he was. Meanwhile Torr drove as unsteadily and terrifyingly as if the wheels were on stilts… the exception of course was The Hammer, which Torr could drive backwards up the Blue Ridge Mountains (a feat he had tried with Luke and Steph twice).

_Steph had immediately thrown herself into the back seat, and instead of pushing her off when she landed on his lap, Luke pulled her to him for dear life. His eyes were so wide you could see little flecks of gold in full focus. Steph's hair was a halo around her face, stray strands in Luke's mouth and scratching at his mystical-colored eye balls._

_"THIS IS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SAFE!" Torrance hollered over the din in the truck's cabin._

_"You don't have seatbelts or airbags yet!" Luke retorted, bracing himself with a leg on the passenger seat. It nearly gave way under his foot._

_"And the passenger seat is going to fly through the windshield!"_

_"I know. I wish Steph could have weighed it down…" the golden brother mused._

_"This is a one way road!" Steph hollered, finding new ways to try to platonically entangle herself in Luke's long legs and arms._

_"Yeah, so move that make out session to the front and I'll turn off and take that hiking trail up there!" _

"Do you remember that time Torr drove backwards up Blue Ridge?" Steph mused.

"The time when we didn't have seat belts and you straddled me? That went well. I bet we would have both gone through the windshield. You would have taken out the glass and you would have made me take the brunt of the road. We would both have tragically died and no one would find our bodies. Thor and the passenger seat would remain somehow unscathed," Luke laughed.

"Praise the Norms for seat belts. Oh come on. Are you pretending to be reading that Mythology book?" Steph asked at his questioning glance. She knew at least a thing or two about mythology… and Marvel comics.

Luke Odinson was black and white in the moonlight. Straight profile and clean-shaven. The darkest hair in town. Steph figured you had to be really freaking gorgeous to shine in the dark like Luke would. Of course Torrance could, just with sheer force of personality. But Lucas was so understated. Why didn't he have a girlfriend? Surely everyone was wondering what it would feel like to have full reign of his hair… and how he kissed. _How would he even act with a girlfriend? Soft? Sweet? Charming? A total jerk? He was more than capable of being a prick, his best friend should know. _

Luke on a date… he dated, didn't he? Maybe all the time, even. Girls who worked as assistants in the library with him. Girls who won Quiz bowl tournaments. Girls who memorized poetry and couldn't raise their voice above whispers.

"So when was your last date?" Steph asked, never backing down… unless it came to Torr.

"Um… I went to go see Les Mis with Siggy Nguen... last Saturday."

"That movie came out years ag- are you talking about the traveling opera version? You know all of the operas they're playing at the movie theatre… those?"

"Yeah. Why? Too lame for Steph Dall?"

"No… no. Take me to the opera anytime. Did she get dressed up and sing along? I would."

"If you want a Luke Odinson Opera Date, trademarked by the man himself, just ask."

"My last date was with Fred Dell. Sophomore year. When I joined the team," Steph sighed.

They both knew who she had been pining after in the meantime. She noticed the dye in her hand.

"Can I do it tomorrow? I'll break into your bedroom bright and early… cut off your hair… whisper good morning... it will be very romantic and I will be able to see what I'm doing…"

Inevitably Luke found himself cutting her hair in the light cast by his iphone, sitting on a filthy picnic table in the middle of the woods.

"Does the dye look a little dark?"

"No turning back now," Luke chided.

He cut at the ends… a perfect straight sheath of blonde ending past her shoulders. Then he snippped at her sidebangs, pulling hair onto her forehead and smashing the ruler up to her skin to make measurements. Steph's face grew hot under his cold fingers, pinning her in place. She swallowed when she looked up at him. Sticky black lashes curling for his straight eye brows, tongue darting out to wet his straight lips. All hard lines and sharp angles. Bony shoulders and leather jackets.

The dye smoothed on as black as night and Luke suddenly regretted his decision VERY much. No turning back now.

"I switched the dye."

"WHAT!" Steph screamed.

"I... just... you don't need to be a brunette, you know…"

"Why?" Steph asked exasperated.

"It's just-your hair could be as dark as mine and you'd still be Steph."

"I'm trying for a change."

"A quick one that couldn't even wait for a real hair stylist. He just likes her a lot, okay? I don't know why Jane likes him- I don't even really know why YOU like him."

"I don't know why you make it about her and him!"

"I don't know why you think you're not pretty enough with blonde hair!"

"It wasn't just the hair!"

"I don't have a thing for blondes," Luke mumbled suddenly. Steph pushed up off of the picnic table and cast a weary glance his way.

"What are you talking about now?"

"It's just… clearly you're acting up because of Torr. And just because he thinks you're like a sister… but I mean…. I don't. You could make me dye your hair purple and you'd still be gorgeous."

"Fine. But you've got to get more creative than the movie theatre," Steph said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Luke asked.

Steph delved her hands into his leather jacket and pulled her to him. His hands fell into her wet hair.

First he looked terrified, but wide blue eyes quickly morphed into mischief. Dark brows lowered and his mouth pulled into a half-grin.

Stephanie Dall wiped the smirk right off Luke Odinson's face.

Eventually Luke pulled back and Steph gasped for breath.

"I've got to wash the dye out," Steph laughed as she looked at Luke's pale fingers dulled by the dark, inky coloring.

She knew the collar of her dress was tinged with black.

Fred Dell and Jogan Chun were sitting up against a picnic table, Fred trying to woo two cheerleaders simultaneously, Jogan shuffling through his outdated ipod.

"Lukey's got a girlfriend," Fred taunted. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Steph!? Oh my God is that you? What the hell did you do to our kicker, Odinson?"

Torrance, with Jane wrapped under his arm, looked up.

"Thank God you're okay. We saw you took Torr's car... and... cut your hair," Jane said delicately.

"Speaking of your hair. Gotta get the dye out, somehow, right?" Luke pulled Steph onto his shoulder and hauled her, kicking and screaming, to the short pier.

Steph kicked off her shoes and went in first. Then Luke pulled off his jacket and boots and jumped in after her. Torr bounded off to the dock and threw himself into the mix.

Jane sat on the edge with her toes in the water and Torrance playfully splashed at her. A few brave cheerleaders slipped in with what amassed in the entire football team and the coach, Mr. Vholsteig.

Luke pulled his wet shirt over his head and Steph took the opportunity not only to oogle, but to loose her balance and temporarily forget just how to pump her legs to stay afloat.

When they dried on the bank, sand and pebbles plastered to their backs, Luke fluffed at her drying hair- his creation- he reminded her frequently.

"You gave me FRINGE, too?"

"You look ravishing," he whispered into her ear. When she crashed her lips against his, using her newfound girlfriend Hair Perks to full advantage, everyone was relieved to see all of their tension finally resolved.

Thank the Valedictorian.

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HAVE A PROMPT?! Until I can get something better together drop me a line in the reviews, not only will I personally respond to EVERY review I will probably totally whip up a one shot for ya! Mmm... tastes like chicken and angst. (;


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